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A Whisper in Every Shadow
Sheltered Flame Keep - Chapel ---- ::Built of white marble from the quarries of Nillu's Lode, the Sheltered Keep chapel is much newer than the rest of the structure - an addition made to the castle during the past two hundred years, commissioned by Aldwahl Mikin. A gilded altar sits atop a stone dais before rows of polished biinwood benches. It is in this arched chamber, with its vaulted ceilings and blue and violet tapestries, where the Order of the Flame performs some of its most somber ceremonies. ::Steps lead down into flame-lit shadows. ---- "The irony would slay you, brother..." Soft-spoken words muse quietly amidst the play of light and shadow that enshroud the chapel in its mysterious air. A breeze from source unseen shifts through the violet and blue banners, causing them to twitch and sway in response to one another - woven mirrors of the purple sheen of the skies beyond. "Forgive me for the changes, but...there are greater powers at work now. Our home land may at last fall beneath another name. *May*." That final word comes on a much firmer note, the expression of the source having certainly puckered with the bitterness of it. Perched at a frontal pew, Rowena falls again silent and keeps her head bowed to the altar. Meditation and prayer were two of the three certainties that did still exist. At the doors to the chapel, in steps a fairly rugged and exhausted looking man, complete with escort. Into the sanctuary of the solemn temple they step, pausing a few feet in to glance to each other, before the visitor seperates. Vhramis is looking rather haggard this evening, his black leathers and mail obviously travel worn, an equal mix of ash and dirt stewn about his body. His expression? Flickering torchlight reveals it to be looking rather glum as he stalks down the central row, his steps growing progessively slower as he draws nearer to the front. The knowledge that the Lady of the keep is in prayer has either been imparted upon him, or is assumed, and he doesn't seem too eager to interrupt. The sconces whisper longingly to the visitor as it passes, flames reaching out their flickers wistfully. The spirits of old, perhaps, yearning for their youth once more. "The sounds of mail born on such gentle footfalls," The motionless duchess murmurs, head tilting just faintly so. "A pathfinder's pathfinding step...without the rustling of windblown branches to conceal him." A pause. "Or my guards have discovered a greater sense of subtly." These words come with a hidden smile, lips as weary as they are from these hours of prayer. Speaking with the dead did grow very tiresome, as it was very much a one-sided conversation. Twisting about to look back towards the entrance as he's identified, Wolfsbane stares at his lingering escort with some concealed thought or another, before his shoulders lift and fall in a soundless sigh. Again, he looks forward, finding the confidence to take several more steps towards the kneeling Duchess. "I feel as subtle indoors as a bull likely would in a pottery store," he murmurs in response, his voice soft yet carrying sufficiently through the otherwise hushed air of the chapel. "..shall I return?" "From that which you came hence? No, stay a moment if you so desire," Rowena unfolds and leans back onto the chair while scooting slightly aside to offer him space. "If you seek me at this hour, then it is without a doubt for good cause." Both brows uplift at that with a twinge of mischevious challenge in the depths of her eyes. One hand uplifts to motion for him to accept the offer while the other folds the length of her gown neatly into place. The man bows his head and meekly steps forward in line with the gestured pew, turning about to look down to the seat, and then himself in turn. "..I'm not suitable for sitting, I'm afraid. Forgive me," he states by way of polite decline, looking as if he intends to simply stand. "Good cause, perhaps, but not happy one, certainly. But, when are my visits to you ever a cause for great cheer? I fear my reputation will soon be as black as my garb." A glance to a bit of gray ash stained leather. "..for the most part." "Your heart will still shine without stain in my eyes," Rowena replies to that, shrugging off his decline and easing back to her former perch at the edge. "I do appreciate your words over those of a raven, if that's of any comfort to you," Chuckling she may be, but the sobriety is there in her gaze, patiently awaiting the less than joyful news this herald was about to bring. Again, the ranger dips his head at her kind words in appreciation, holding the gesture for a long moment, before straightening again and meeting her gaze with his own. "Perhaps it's simply a matter of me being paranoid. Light knows I'm as such quite often. But it's still my duty to speak of it to you." A gloved palm is run over his scalp, bristly hair brushing and scraping audibly. "You've certainly heard the news of the bandits. Or lack of, rather. I've confirmed it myself. Checked several locations where I knew groups were operating. True enough, there's only tracks left, heading north and eastward to other regions. I'm certain the operations of the Watch have been nothing sort of miraculous, your Grace. I don't mean to discount them, but..I don't believe they had much of a hand in their departure." Rowena's brow turns pensive, turning over his words for the underlying hint within. "Nor do I suppose a brave but rather aged Armond..." A little sigh breathes forth and she lowers her eyes from his to fidget with a fingernail. "You suspect then that there are far more frightening things to turn away a horde of bandits than armored men bearing the Emperor's word?" Wolfsbane's nod is faint, but confirming nonetheless. "What drives away a predator?" he asks the Duchess pointedly, his shoulders again bearing evidence of a sigh. Likewise, he turns his attention down to Rowena's fingernail, blinking, before he pats at a knife tucked into his belt, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "The urine of an even bigger one," Answers Rowena rather brusquely in the form of a mutter and gives up with the formerly uninjured nail. It takes a moment or two for her to catch on to his silent suggestion but when at last she does, the offer's met with swift opposition. "You'll not be using that on me." "Shifts are afoot within us all, Vhramis. Perhaps they, too, have felt it in the air. Or, perhaps they grew tired of having little to nothing of value to plunder. Then again, there's the knowledge that a very well known wildcat patrols at his own pace here, a wildcat that has ressurected twice now and would be most displeased should they attempt to ransack his most prized possession." Standing, Rowena forsakes the seat and bows her head once to the altar. "Can you really be certain that there is a darker form prowling through Mikin wood?" Still, despite the words of doubt, the little hairs upon her nape rise with that all too familiar tingling sensation. "I mean, really. The shadow made its point. And the Light smothered it." "As I said..peranoia perhaps? I wouldn't discount that. But at the same time, what of the Tribunal's report? Warnings about the still unexplored caves and tunnels created from the..disaster, under the mesa? And the ones that were there before?" The ranger falls quiet, his eyes lowering to the floor by his feet. "..I wish for the best. Honestly, I do. But I find myself unable to expect it, at the same time." "We are all paranoid, Vhramis," Rowena advises gently, relaxing somewhat. "Those of us who bore witness to the Ravager, at least. It will be years before any of us can fully trust the ground we dwell on. If ever again. But we must. Serath has spoken of rebuilding Light's Reach...quite possibly with a certain few unnatural powers beyond my knowing. If he sensed anything amiss here, he wouldn't dare." Swallowing, Rowena nods firmly to reaffirm her own words and cast personal fears aside. "But I do appreciate your concerns, as always. We will never truly drop our guard." Category:Logs